


you and i were fireworks

by littlesnowpea



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, M/M, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20151856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: “Stop being such a drama queen,” Andy said, rolling his eyes. He stood, pulling on one of his nicer button ups and buttoning it as he began lecturing Pete. Classic. “It is the Fourth of fucking July, my dude, and we are going out to the goddamn pier where there will be so many goddamn drunk ass gay dudes. You will have your pick, sunburn or no sunburn. And I have so graciously given you the hotel room---”“Only because you’re going to get laid at Joe’s house,” Pete protested, and Andy ignored him.“So you need to get over yourself, dress in your nicest trash, and go get a dude,” Andy finished firmly. “You’re the one who wanted to test his bisexuality. So go fucking do it.”





	you and i were fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> my entry for peterick creations challenge! the theme was 'summer'. this was not beta'd as i am a hot mess. my thanks to the discord chat and to the pack for your endless encouragement and support. this was a great theme.

Pete was pretty sure his nipples were sunburned. They fucking hurt, that was for sure, and he winced and poked at one forlornly, if only to avoid looking at himself in the full length mirror--fuck this, seriously. So much for fucking melanin, so much for natural sun protection like his mom always told him. Fuck the sun, too, while Pete was at it. 

He finally dragged his gaze away from his poor, puffy nipples to survey his own reflection. 

It wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t shockingly red, but he definitely wasn’t fucking tan. This was probably going to mess with his plan of losing his guy virginity this summer before he went back to college. Andy insisted he needed to name his master plan better or the fates wouldn’t listen or whatever, but Pete was pretty sure his sunburn would cockblock him before anything else would.

“I told you to use sunscreen,” Andy said primly, lathering himself up. “I used sunscreen. Look at me, not burnt.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Pete muttered. 

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Andy said, rolling his eyes. He stood, pulling on one of his nicer button ups and buttoning it as he began lecturing Pete. Classic. “It is the Fourth of fucking July, my dude, and we are going out to the goddamn pier where there will be so many goddamn drunk ass gay dudes. You will have your pick, sunburn or no sunburn. And I have so graciously given you the hotel room---”

“Only because you’re going to get laid at Joe’s house,” Pete protested, and Andy ignored him. 

“So you need to get over yourself, dress in your nicest trash, and go get a dude,” Andy finished firmly. “You’re the one who wanted to test his bisexuality. So go fucking do it.”

“What if none of them want me?” Pete asked mournfully. Andy rolled his eyes again and smacked Pete hard on the back of the head. Jerk. 

“Statistically there will be at least one dude there willing to sleep with you,” he said. “You might even be attracted to him. So go fucking do it, for Christ’s sake.”

“You’re an atheist,” Pete pointed out, and Andy threw a shirt directly into his face. He groaned and pulled it on, wincing at it chafed across his raw skin. “Fuck, I hate this. I’m going to yell at my mom when I get home.”

“You will not,” Andy laughed. “One glare from her and you’ll shit your pants in fear.”

“Not the point,” Pete lied. He grabbed his sunglasses from the bed and shoved his feet into flip flops. “Are we grabbing food?”

“Yeah,” Andy said. “Food and then we’re mingling. I want you to be kissing someone by midnight, Cinderella.”

“If I don’t, will all my clothes turn to rags?” Pete asked, a smirk playing on his face. 

“No,” Andy said, shutting the door behind them as they stepped into the hallway. “But I might turn your coach into a pumpkin.”

“Don’t touch her,” Pete ordered. “Metallica is my life.”

“Make sure you kiss before midnight then,” Andy said, smirking, and Pete was reasonably sure he was joking and wouldn’t actually touch Pete’s car. Reasonably, but not positively. He eyed his best friend. 

“Will you be abandoning me for Joe again?” he asked, and Andy popped his gum and looked over the edge of his sunglasses (that he was wearing even though it was indoors), leading Pete onto the elevator when it arrived. 

“You’re going to need the room,” he said. “Where else am I supposed to go besides Joe’s?”

“Convenient,” Pete muttered. Andy ignored him. “I’m still not positive I’ll meet anyone.”

“Try,” Andy said, and then, as if it was an emphasis, flicked him on the ear.

“Fuck!” Pete swore, rubbing at the sting. “Fine, alright! Will there be fireworks?”

“Probably,” Andy said, stepping out of the elevator ahead of Pete. “But I want your mouth to be so full of cock you won’t know what the hell else is happening. Have a good day, sir.”

The man who’d overheard them was left gaping at their backs. Pete snickered, jogging to catch up with Andy’s purposeful strides. 

“Alright,” he said again. “Take me to this magical land of gay men who want to sleep with me.”

“Your chariot awaits,” Andy said, gesturing at the Lyft presumably waiting for them. Pete rolled his eyes and followed Andy into the backseat. 

\----

The beach was unspeakably bright. Pete glanced mournfully at his sunburned skin, poking it like that would make it better, before looking back out at the quite sizeable crowd. 

“Partying all day, I see,” he said, as a couple guys stumbled by, drunk out of their minds.

“It’s the Fourth of July,” Andy said patronizingly. “Some people have _fun_ on the Fourth of July.”

“Big talk coming from the straight edge vegan,” Pete muttered. “How much fun will you have?”

“Some people can have fun without poison,” Andy said, like he actually knew how to have fun, which Pete very much doubted. “Anyway, you are neither straight edge nor vegan so worry about how you’re gonna have fun.”

“This was a terrible idea,” Pete said. 

“Too fucking late,” Andy announced, and shoved him forward. 

Pete stumbled, sand invading his sandals as he took his first few steps onto the beach, like a baby learning to walk for the first time. He gave up after a few steps and kicked the shoes off, picking them up by the straps and squinting even through his sunglasses as he cautiously edged his way through the party. 

It was odd. He was usually the life of the party, ask anyone at UCLA. He usually had a girl on each arm and a line of people waiting to kiss the soccer star’s ass--metaphorically of course. So being here, nervous, on the edge of a crowd he’d normally dive right into, was a strange place to be. 

“They are something else, aren’t they?”

The voice, originating somewhere around Pete’s left shoulder, made him jump, which he wasn’t proud of. He turned, half expecting to see some muscled beefcake who would sweep him off his feet or whatever his latest porn fantasy was, but that was definitely not what he got. 

It was a dude, hair platinum blond, square, hipster sunglasses perched on his face. He had a drink in one hand--something fruity with an umbrella, which, okay, Pete could get that. 

This definitely wasn’t the guy taking Pete’s dude on dude action virginity, but Pete let his gaze wander over him, anyway. He had pale skin, like he was secretly a vampire who hadn’t seen daylight until today. He was dressed far too fashionably for a beachside rave, with neat, mid-thigh swim trunks Pete honest to God ever saw on models and an actual button up shirt. 

Pete reconsidered. Yeah, he still wasn’t The One, but perhaps he would let Pete suck him off. And then suck Pete off. That was a thought. Pete shifted and his shirt announced its presence via rubbing his chafed nipples again.

Pete thought it was distinctly unfair that he was sunburned and Frosty the fucking Snowman over here had pristine, unburned, borderline blinding pale skin. Where was God now?

“Patrick,” the man said, holding out a hand. Pete shook it, noting callouses in contrast to the neat, manicured nails the man had. It was an interesting combination, that was for sure.

“Pete,” Pete said belatedly. “I’ve lived in LA for three years and somehow have never come here for the Fourth of July.”

“Why not?” Patrick said. “Everyone should celebrate Treason Day by getting mindblowingly drunk.”

Pete laughed without meaning to and Patrick’s lips quirked into a smirk. Pete glanced around at the writhing, carefree bodies and gestured at Patrick. 

“What about you?” he asked. “You don’t exactly seem three seconds from joining in this mess yourself.”

“Ah,” Patrick said, taking a long sip of his drink. A tiny crease appeared between his eyes, just above his white sunglasses. He cleared his throat. “Well. I go to USC and my boyfriend goes to UCLA. He convinced me to come out here, which is definitely more his scene, only to dump me on the spot and vanish. Something about a sorority girl he met, definitely _the one_ for him.”

“Shit,” Pete said, and Patrick slurped his drink. “I’m sorry.”

Patrick shrugged one shoulder, but the crease hadn’t disappeared from his forehead yet. He was clearly trying to appear nonchalant, but it wasn’t really working. Pete could fucking relate. Ashlee--_bless her heart_, as Andy would say, usually with a bad fake Southern accent--decided Pete being bisexual was the worst thing he could possibly do to her and dumped him.

Of course, not before outing him to the entire school in the form of a _devastated_ column in the school paper. 

That was a good memory.

Point was, Pete could relate. He gave Patrick his best sympathetic smile. 

“If it helps, I am ridiculously sunburned,” he offered, and Patrick’s lips quirked into a smirk once more. 

“You’re not _ridiculously_ sunburned,” he said, surveying Pete critically. “Me? I get ridiculously sunburned. You’re just a little pink.”

“You haven’t seen my chest,” Pete said. 

“Mmm,” Patrick agreed around his straw, eyes still on Pete. “Maybe you should change that.”

Pete flushed hard and Patrick smirked. Swallowing past a suddenly-dry mouth, Pete was still searching for something to say when Patrick took pity on him. 

“Anyway, you should see me when I sunburn,” he said. “I know I don’t look like the type but secretly I have very pale skin.”

“Yeah,” Pete said, voice still hoarse. “Secretly.”

Patrick winked at him before glancing back out at the madness. 

“Well,” he said. “You look very alone. I am most assuredly very alone. Care to hang out?”

“Sure,” Pete said. “But you have to wear sunscreen.”

“Aw, man,” Patrick said.

\----

“God,” Pete muttered, taking a long drink of his Sex On The Beach. It wasn’t a particularly good incarnation of the drink, but he’d take alcohol however he could get it at this point. His eyes were locked on the couple in the middle of the sand, doing what was presumably supposed to be dancing. “I hope I’m never _that_ obnoxious when I’m drunk.”

“Something tells me you are,” Patrick said, smirking as the dude bent the woman over and all but dry-humped her to the rhythm of whatever stupid dubstep song was pumping through the precariously placed speakers on the rocks above the sand. Pete got a very strong urge to knock them down, so he took a long sip of his sub-par alcohol. 

“I resent that,” he said, and Patrick rolled his eyes. “How’s yours?”

Patrick lifted his glass, frowning at the yellow frozen cocktail of about ten different liquors he was currently drinking. 

“Tastes like a blood transfusion from someone dying of alcohol poisoning,” he decided, and Pete laughed. 

“That’s kind of hot,” he joked. 

“You’re kind of weird,” Patrick said, infuriating smirk still very much in place. “So. Why did you come this year?”

“To see the fireworks,” Pete lied, because he wasn’t ready to tell Patrick to his face that he was a semi virgin. Patrick raised one delicate eyebrow, a disbelieving look on his face, and Pete flushed and shrugged one shoulder. “What about you?”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before he winced, remembering very clearly the look on Patrick’s face earlier. Patrick sighed. 

“It’s okay,” he reassured Pete. “I just--you know, I thought Travie was _the one_, he was my first pretty much everything, and I thought I was worth more than to be dumped without a hotel room or car keys on a beach. I could have taken a Lyft, gone home and packed my things, but I don’t even know where I would go.”

“You are,” Pete said, and Patrick blinked. “Worth more than that, I mean. I hope he knows what he missed out on.”

“You hardly know me,” Patrick said quietly, and Pete shrugged one shoulder. “Thank you.”

Patrick’s voice was quiet now, a little sad. Pete bumped shoulders with him. 

“It’s only four in the evening,” he said, injecting as much cheer as he felt he could fake into his voice. “If you’re here, you should damn well enjoy yourself. Let’s hang out. We can do whatever you want, watch the fireworks, whatever. And you can stay in my room, if you want. Fuck your ex.”

“Don’t fuck my ex,” Patrick corrected, lips twitching. “You hardly know me. You came here to do whatever the hell you actually came here to do. You’re telling me you’re okay with just hanging out with me?”

“Totally,” Pete assured him. It was true. Fuck his first time, he could have that any damn day. But he knew how it felt to be betrayed, so the one thing he could do was keep Patrick’s mind off it. And who knew. Maybe his good deed would inspire God to give him a boyfriend.

Patrick grinned, a little more bright, a little more hopeful. 

“Thanks,” he said, and Pete knocked his glass against Patrick’s. “So, what do you want to do?”

“Not flunk out of college,” Pete said promptly, then widened his eyes for comic amusement. “Oh you mean _right now_, got it. Uh, I dunno. Not go into that mess, that’s for sure. Have you been here before?”

“Not when it’s the scene of future bodies passed out in the sand,” Patrick said. “Do you wanna go someplace else?”

“Down the beach?” Pete suggested. “There has to be somewhere not infested with drunk, hormonal college students.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Patrick said, but stood, taking Pete’s wrist and leading him around the crowd. Pete’s mouth went dry, his entire focus on the burn of Patrick’s fingers on the skin of his wrist, how his heart was beating so hard Pete was surprised his pulse wasn’t jumping in Patrick’s grip. 

If it was, Patrick didn’t seem to notice or care, just led Pete until the crowd thinned out a little, the sand changing from fine and smooth to coarse and rough, more jagged and tough. Pete paused to pull on his flip flops, a poor defense against the sharp ground, but better than nothing. 

Patrick was still wearing what looked like boat shoes, which was so hipster it matched with the rest of Patrick pretentious but cute outfit. For a while, the only sounds that accompanied their walk was the crush of their feet on the almost-sand, the crashing of waves slightly to their right, and the thumping of the bass at the real party spot behind them, getting quieter the more they walked from it. 

Pete glanced around. They’d entered what seemed like it was makeout central, with couples tucked in every conceivable corner, kissing like their lives depended on it. Maybe they did, Pete didn’t know. 

Patrick abruptly froze, Pete running into him. His eyes were wide, breathing shallow, as he stared at a couple up ahead of them on their left. The guy was pressing the girl against the rock formations--which couldn’t _possibly_ be comfortable--and they were kissing. Badly. Like a satire of the way straight people kissed, with the girls tongue halfway down the dude’s throat, both of them drooling like dogs presented with large steaks. 

“Gross,” Pete commented, and Patrick’s breathing hitched. “What’s wrong?

Patrick shook his head, looking around frantically. 

“I have to hide,” he said, shaking a little. “Before he sees me, because he’ll rub it in, of course he’ll rub it in--”

“Who?” Pete asked, confused. “Him?”

He gestured at the man who was quite occupied by...licking the woman’s eyebrow? Odd. Patrick swallowed, eyes wet and lower lip trembling, and it clicked all of a sudden in Pete’s brain. 

Oh. _Oh_, this was the ex, the one that dumped him just this morning, apparently for the girl he was rubbing himself on. Pete thought--a little meanly--that she was, at best, a five and thus not comparable to Patrick at all, and this was excellent evidence that Patrick’s ex was not in his right mind. 

It didn’t matter. Patrick’s grip on him was tight as he backed up, shaking. Pete tried to follow, tried to be quiet, but Patrick’s foot caught a large rock and he fell backwards, ankle twisting a little, inadvertently dragging Pete down with him. Patrick yelped--in fear or surprise or both, Pete didn’t know-- and, like it was slow motion, Pete saw Patrick’s ex pull away from his ...partner…and look around for the source of the sound, several other couples copying him. Pete looked down at Patrick, who’s eyes were shut tight, breathing harsh like he might start crying. 

Pete looked at himself, then the girl, and knew exactly what he should do.

“Sorry for this,” Pete said. “Probably should have asked first, but it’s an emergency.”

“What?” Patrick said, eyes still shut like he was scared, but that was all he was able to get out as Pete crushed their lips together. He wasn’t using much finesse, but he knew he was better than whatever the fuck _that_ display had been, that was for sure, and Patrick gasped a little in surprise. 

Pete used it to his advantage, gently coaxing Patrick’s mouth open a little further to swipe his tongue against Patrick’s. Pete may not have known what it was like to have sex with a guy, but kissing was one thing he was very, very good at. 

He shifted, praying Patrick would forgive him, halfway straddling Patrick, tangling their fingers together on the sand. Pete sank his teeth into Patrick’s lower lip, making him groan a little, before diving back in, teasing, encouraging Patrick’s reciprocation. 

“Oh, shit,” he heard a man mutter from somewhere out of Pete’s consciousness. “Fuck, that’s my ex. I thought he might have fucked off. No, he’s decided to slut it up.”

Fire and anger burned in Pete’s gut. Patrick was right, Pete might not know him well, but that was no fucking way to talk to anyone, let alone a former boyfriend who’s pain _ he caused _, but pulling off Patrick to sink a fist into his exes stupid face would probably not go over well, so he just kissed Patrick more, trying to make Patrick focus on him and him alone. 

“Damn,” the woman said, in a tone that suggested she didn’t like what Patrick’s ex had just said. “He really leveled up.”

“Excuse me?” Patrick’s ex (Travis? Travie? whatever) demanded, sounding stunned. The woman sniffed in clear derision. 

“I said,” she said, enunciating every word. “He really leveled up. Especially if his competition is _you_.”

Pete mentally took back his cruel judgement of her from earlier. She was clearly above rating. Pete felt like giving her a standing ovation.

“Wait,” Travie-or-Travis said, with an edge of desperation. “Wait, just what the hell is going on here?”

“It’s a bit rich of you to say _he’s_ a slut when you literally broke up with him today to hook up with me,” the woman said, loudly, clearly making sure everyone could hear her. “Don’t you think?”

The woman didn’t give Travie (Pete was settling on that name) a chance to respond, and Pete heard feet crunch in the sand as she ran away. Patrick pulled back, a grin on his face, breath hot and uneven as he craned his neck back to smirk up at Travie. 

“Aw,” Patrick said, throwing in a fake pout for good measure. Pete was so goddamn proud of him. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Fuck you, bitch,” Travie said, before turning to follow his date. Pete hoped he stepped on a large piece of glass. Patrick was giggling, hands still clutched in Pete’s shirt, body warm under Pete’s. The sun glinted off his sunglasses, which were askew, and made his hair shine like a beacon. 

“Thank you,” Patrick said, still grinning a bit. His body was warm and solid underneath Pete’s a Pete would kind of like to kiss Patrick again, but that was probably over whatever line existed between making out with an almost stranger to stick it to his ex and trying to be friendly with a total stranger because Pete was mostly alone on the beach today. 

Pete shrugged, forcing himself to push himself up and off Patrick. He was imagining that flash of disappointment, he was sure of it, because right when he thought he saw it, it vanished. He was projecting. Pete was good at that. 

“That dude,” Pete said, offering a hand to Patrick and pulling him to his feet, automatically helping him brush the sand off his clothes and hair. “Is a world class douche. Damn.”

“You got that right,” Patrick said wryly. “I owe you one.”

“Nah,” Pete said, shaking his head. “It was the least I could do. You wanna keep wandering? Maybe we can find a bar not overrun with horny college students. 

“Dream on,” Patrick said, but took the arm Pete wasn’t quite sure why he’d offered and walked side by side with him down the beach. 

\----

They did not find a bar free from drunk college students, but they did find a cafe. It was pushing seven in the evening, now, and Pete felt hungry, so they managed to nab a seat as they waited for their food. 

“So,” Pete said, poking the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table until they were precisely even. Patrick smirked at him and poked them back out of place, smirk growing at Pete’s annoyed huff. 

“So?” Patrick prodded, when Pete didn’t immediately continue. “I’m dying here.”

“You are such a drama queen,” Pete said, and Patrick rolled his eyes. “I was going to say ‘tell me about yourself’, but that feels a little like a first date question.”

“Well, you did make out with me in front of my ex,” Patrick said, sounding remarkably reasonable. “Does that make this a first date?”

“Well,” Pete conceded. “I suppose. Since if I see your ex again, I am happy to play the part of your brand new boyfriend.”

“Don’t make me swoon,” Patrick said. “To answer your question, I’m a musical theater major at USC. My parents wanted me to have a _real major_ but I make my own decisions.”

“That seems smart,” Pete said. “I did not follow your path. My dad wanted me to study poli-sci. Three guesses what I study.”

“Oh, I know!” Patrick said, imitating a third grader who could hardly wait to be called on. “I bet it’s poli-sci!”

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Pete said, and Patrick smirked. 

“I’m a Slytherin,” he confessed, and Pete grinned. 

“You’re a nerd, that’s what you are,” he said, and Patrick rolled his eyes. 

“You made the reference,” he argued. “Anyway. Sorry you got roped into studying _poly-sci_.

He said the words like they tasted nasty. Pete shrugged. 

“It isn’t so bad,” he said. “I make all the conservative frat boys mad. Small victories.”

“Not that small,” Patrick said. “I think that makes you practically a saint.”

Pete grinned. 

“So, musical theater,” he said conversationally. “What’s your next show?”

“Footloose,” Patrick said. “It hasn’t been casted yet. We do auditions the first week of school.”

“_Footloose?_” Pete asked. “Didn’t know people still did that show unironically.” 

“No one asked your opinion,” Patrick said, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his tone. “I’m not that wild about the show either, but I don’t have that much of a choice.”

“It was this or Purgatory, I assume,” Pete said, and Patrick rolled his eyes, leaning back and giving the waitress a genuine smile as she put their food in front of them.

“Thank you,” he said sweetly, and grabbed a fry, pointing it at Pete. “Your jokes are not funny.”

“You must be a robot,” Pete said. “I’m hilarious.”

“Sure,” Patrick said. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Pete grinned, stealing a fry and shoving it in his mouth as Patrick gave him an outraged look.

“You have your own!” he huffed. Pete winked. “Don’t you wink at me.”

“I can’t stop,” Pete informed him. “It’s in my nature.”

“God have mercy,” Patrick muttered. “So. What’s the real reason you came here? Literally nobody comes here for the fireworks.”

Pete sighed. He really hadn’t wanted to admit to Patrick that he’d never had sex with a guy, even though Patrick seemed like the last guy on Earth who would judge him for it. Still, it was kind of embarrassing. What kind of dude waits so long to test a sexuality he’d been pretty certain about for his whole life?

His silence must have felt awkward to Patrick because he was shaking his head before Pete had decided on what he would even say. 

“Never mind,” he said. “That was rude of me. You don’t have to say anything.”

“It’s really not that dramatic,” Pete said, laughing a little halfheartedly. “I just--I wanted to find a hookup. Or something. I also went through a bad breakup.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said softly, and Pete gave him a bracing smile. “Believe me.”

“I do,” Pete replied, his smile a little more genuine. “Anyway. That’s why I’m here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Patrick said, sitting back and gesturing around them. “There must be tons of people willing to show you a good time.”

“Yeah,” Pete said a little faintly, but all he could focus on was the tiny voice in his head suggesting that Patrick be the one Pete chooses.

\-----

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” Pete said later, as they walked back to the boardwalk. They had to stake out a spot for the fireworks now, at least Patrick insisted they did, and Pete was willing to do just about anything Patrick wanted, to be honest. Including heading to the boardwalk before night had even fallen. 

Patrick flashed him a bright smile, making Pete grateful he was still wearing his sunglasses. His heart skipped a beat and he considered for a half second taking Patrick’s hand, tangling their fingers together. 

He stopped himself just in time. Fake kiss notwithstanding, Patrick probably didn’t want to hold hands with a dude he just met. 

“Any time,” Patrick said, and promptly short circuited Pete’s brain by looping their arms together, hips bumping with every step they took. “You’re a good person to spend time with, Pete.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Pete managed, and Patrick grinned again. 

“I’m glad you came this year,” he said, matching pace with Pete so they bumped less awkwardly. “Even if it was for less than an ideal reason.”

Pete hummed in agreement, tilting his head to look at Patrick, who was glancing at the water as they walked. Around them, people were seemingly just getting their party started, as there were more people lining the beach than there were last time they took the trek. 

“I’m sorry your boyfriend is a douche,” Pete finally said. “Er, ex boyfriend. You deserve so much better than that.”

Patrick looked back over at him, grinning shyly. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and dodged a stray beachball that had sailed in their direction. “That’s very kind.”

Pete shrugged. 

“It’s just the truth,” he said. “And hey--I meant it. I’ll gladly be your fake boyfriend all night if you need me too.”

“Hmmm,” Patrick said. “You do kiss pretty good. For a fake boyfriend, I mean.”

“Hey,” Pete said, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a spectacular kisser whether or not I’m faking a relationship.”

“Good to know,” Patrick said, melting Pete’s brain once again with a wink. “I might just take you up on that. Especially if Travie’s new girlfriend really did ditch him. Make him feel really lonely.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Pete said, once again ignoring the tiny voice saying _why does it have to be fake_. “I live to make shithead boyfriends jealous.”

The grin slid right off Patrick’s face as his gaze slipped beyond Pete. He went a little pale, nails digging into Pete’s arm, and Pete didn’t even have to turn and look to know Travie was around. 

“Hey,” he said gently, taking Patrick’s chin. “Come here.”

Patrick looked at him with wide eyes and Pete did his best to give Patrick a reassuring smile before leaning in and pressing his lips to Patrick’s, gently but firmly. 

Patrick hesitated for a moment before leaning into it, kissing Pete back with fervor. It felt a little too intense to be fake, but maybe Patrick was going for uber realistic. He tried to shove it out of his mind, tried to pretend it wasn’t for show and maybe someone like Patrick really would be into him. 

He closed his eyes, teasing Patrick’s lower lip with his tongue, using Patrick’s surprised gasp to slip his tongue inside Patrick’s mouth, deepening the kiss without pausing to think about it. Patrick sighed a little, giving back in spades, teeth catching on Pete’s lip before soothing the sting with his own tongue. 

Time could have melted away. The apocalypse could have begun, the sky could have begun raining fish for all Pete knew. All he could focus on was the softness of Patrick’s skin under his hands, the warmth of his mouth, the tiny noises he was making as Pete kept kissing him.

He could have stayed here forever. He would have gladly stayed here forever, but, all of a sudden, Patrick pulled away, looking the tiniest bit dazed, grinning lopsided at Pete with swollen lips. 

“He’s gone,” Patrick said, and Pete’s stomach swooped unpleasantly, reminding him that yeah, this was _all for show_ and someone like Patrick wouldn’t actually be interested in someone like Pete. “Thank you.”

Pete forced a smile. 

“Any time,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Should we find a spot?”

Patrick nodded, grin blinding again, and Pete tried to swallow the bitter disappointment as he let Patrick lead him away. 

\----

The boardwalk was packed. The fireworks were set to start any minute, and Pete had to concede that Patrick was right--it was a good idea to stake out a spot early. 

On his right, Patrick was sitting at the edge of the boardwalk, legs hanging off the side, dangling a few feet above the water. He had his arms braced on the rails as he stared down at the water, looking at nothing. The water was rippling slightly with the breeze, and Pete leaned close to Patrick. 

“Careful,” he said. “You’re shark feed right now.”

Patrick snorted, turning to look at Pete, eyes bright even in the growing darkness. Pete winked at him and Patrick snorted again. 

“I welcome death,” he deadpanned, and Pete smacked his shoulder. “No, I’m just...lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts?” Pete asked, raising an eyebrow, and Patrick heaved a sigh. 

“Don’t know yet,” he admitted. “Tough call.”

“How so?” Pete asked, and Patrick chewed on his lip. 

“It’s just--” he began, but was interrupted by the squeal of a firework being set, seconds before the loud boom echoed across the beach. Above them, bright red sparks shone through the night, before white and blue ones joined them with matching explosions. 

Patrick looked up, still biting his lip. He was staring right at the fireworks, but didn’t really seem like he was _seeing_ them, just seemed like he was staring blankly at the sky. 

Despite that, this close to Patrick Pete could see his eyes, bright blue, and, as he leaned closer, he saw the reflection of the fireworks in the sky, shining perfectly from Patrick’s iris. 

Pete’s chest clenched a little, making his breathing stutter. A series of rapid fire explosions dragged his gaze back up, but this time it was him that didn’t really see anything. His brain was replaying the way Patrick’s eyes looked in the firework light, replaying their kisses and how soft Patrick’s mouth was, reminding Pete how badly he wanted to take Patrick’s hand. 

More than that, though, Pete wanted to lean over and capture Patrick’s lips with his once again. He wanted to pretend, wanted to stretch tonight to last forever, wanted to stay in this moment where Patrick looked gorgeous and Pete could imagine he was _his_, in a way no one had ever been before. 

Pete couldn’t believe he found someone who could well qualify as a soulmate, only to be forced to let him go when the night was over. He felt a little like Cinderella, knowing midnight was fast approaching but unable to do a single thing about it but watch helplessly as Patrick stared up at the sky, thigh burning where it was pressed to Pete’s. 

It didn’t feel real, none of this felt real, and Pete’s breathing hitched again. 

Patrick glanced over at him, eyebrows knit in confusion, and Pete threw caution to the wind. 

He lied. 

“I see Travie,” he said, and Patrick’s eyes widened. “Come here.”

Patrick didn’t even glance around to confirm, so, really, was it Pete’s fault? No one answer that. All Pete could focus on was leaning in, leaning close, and capturing Patrick’s lips once again. 

This time, there was no tease. There was no playing around. There was just Patrick’s mouth opening immediately under Pete’s, letting him in completely, surrounding him in hot heat. Pete closed his eyes, the boom of the fireworks reverberating over him as he kissed Patrick like he needed to breathe. 

God. He didn’t want to let this go, he _never_ wanted to let this go. He tried to pour everything he was into the kiss, tried to make it the best Patrick had ever had, so Patrick would always have to compare others to Pete, and it wasn’t until his lungs were screaming at him that Pete pulled back a half centimeter, breathing hard.

“Wow,” Patrick said, and it was his turn to sound a little hoarse. Pete forced a grin.

“Had to be convincing,” he tried, and Patrick’s face cycled through a number of hard to read expressions before clearly settling on a mixture of fond and incredibly turned on. Pete recognized that look. He was pretty sure he was wearing it himself. 

“Pete,” Patrick said gently. “Travie is nowhere near us.”

“Uh,” Pete said eloquently, and Patrick gave him a soft, shy smile, fingers tangling with Pete’s before Pete could move an inch. That simple touch jumpstarted Pete’s heart again, making it leap into his throat and bang painfully against his windpipe, and Patrick gave him another grin. 

“You staying in the area?” he asked, hopefully. “I think--I’ve seen fireworks before. I’d rather see you.”

Pete gaped at Patrick a little, struggling to find words, and Patrick’s face fell a minute before he bravely covered it up with false cheer. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said. “But it’s okay if you--”

“Yeah,” Pete blurted out, and Patrick’s eyes widened. “You’re the most--gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, yeah, _yes_, come back to my hotel with me.”

Patrick flushed a little, grinning so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Well,” he said. “When you put it like that, how can I say no?”

“How indeed?” Pete asked, and stood, pulling Patrick to his feet and planting a kiss on his lips before he could help himself. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re one to talk,” Patrick whispered, squeezing Pete’s hand. “Lead the way?”

“Absolutely,” Pete said, and his heart pounded hard.

\-----

They were hardly in Pete’s thankfully Andy-free hotel room before they were on each other, kissing like they’d die if they stopped. Maybe they would. Pete allowed himself to get lost in it, kissing back with everything he had until Patrick’s roaming hands found the bottom of his shirt.

“Wait,” Pete said, gasping for breath. Patrick paused, pulling away, eyes wide and uncertain. “Wait. I’ve--I’ve never--”

Patrick cocked his head before understanding crossed his face. 

“Oh!” he said. “Oh! Like...like at all, or have you done it with girls, or…”

“I’ve done it with girls,” Pete said, skin tight with discomfort and slight humiliation. Patrick wasn’t laughing or anything, but Pete also hadn’t planned on blurting it out like an idiot, either. He planned on being suave and maybe a little sexy about it, but it figured he’d fail at that, too.

“Oh,” Patrick said, then grinned a little, soft and adorable. “But not with guys. Okay! That’s okay! How--how did you want to?”

“Um,” Pete mumbled, cheeks hot, uncomfortable. “I don’t--I kind of wanted to bottom. But like. If you don’t, it’s okay.”

Patrick smiled gently, biting his lip a little. 

“I’ve done it both ways,” he said. “I’m happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I feel like an idiot,” Pete confessed, and Patrick kissed his cheek.

“Why?” he asked. “Everyone has a first time.”

“Not like this,” Pete said.

“Doubtful,” Patrick assured him. “C’mere.”

Pete let his eyes flutter shut as Patrick kissed him again. His hands slid up Pete’s body to tangle in his hair, stiff with salt from the ocean air, curls out like he usually didn’t allow them to be. Patrick tugged a little and Pete didn’t actually mean to make the low whine he made in response to that. Patrick grinned against his lips. 

Patrick sucked biting kisses down Pete’s jaw, tongue sweeping over stubble like he didn’t mind it was there. Like he was proving a point, Patrick rubbed his own cheek along Pete’s jawline; Pete felt heat spread in his belly at the red patches blooming on Patrick’s pale skin. Like a marker. Like Pete was _there_.

“Off,” Patrick mumbled, yanking at Pete’s shirt. Pete scrambled to rid himself of it as quickly as possible, and was rewarded by Patrick spreading almost greedy hands across Pete’s chest, gentle of the sunburn even in the heat of the moment. “You’re hot.”

Pete flushed, he felt it. His mouth was suddenly dry. He reached out to run his fingers through Patrick’s hair, emboldened a little as Patrick tilted his head in encouragement. Fuck. His cherry-red lips were slightly parted as Pete tugged, opening further on a gasp as Pete pulled more insistently. 

Pete wanted him so bad it hurt. His theoretical bisexuality was less and less theoretical the longer he was around Patrick and his stupid pale skin and his stupid gorgeous smile. Pete crashed his lips to Patrick’s with zero finesse, but it didn’t seem to matter. Patrick kissed back with enthusiasm, biting at Pete’s lower lip, swiping his tongue against Pete’s. 

Patrick’s hands wandered to Pete’s swim trunks, struggling with the tie before emerging triumphant to slide his hand into Pete’s briefs. Pete bucked his hips at the first sensation of calluses on his cock, short-circuiting his mind and making him _want_.

“You’re big,” Patrick said, sounding delighted. Pete flushed harder and forced himself to reach for Patrick’s waistband, hands trembling. Patrick made a soft noise and laid his hands on Pete’s, stilling his efforts to undo Pete’s tie. Patrick kissed his cheek, chaste, gentle. 

“It’s okay,” he said, and Pete swallowed. “We don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to bottom. I can blow you. We can stop and just watch some dumb movie. It’s okay.”

“No, I want to,” Pete insisted, because it was true. “I’m just--I’m nervous. You’re so...you’re so _perfect_ and I’m going to be bad at it.”

“Okay, first of all,” Patrick said. “I’m not perfect, but you’re sweet for thinking so. And second, as long as there’s enthusiasm and consent, it’s impossible to be bad at sex. At least in my opinion. Okay? But you don’t have to do anything that makes you scared or uncomfortable.”

Pete kissed Patrick, a little uncoordinated and sloppy, but the message was there, he was pretty sure. Patrick grinned, squeezing Pete’s hands, and Pete took a deep breath. 

“I want to,” he repeated. “I want...I want _you_. Like, I wasn’t sure if I was bi or anything. I, like, suspected? But was never sure. And then there was you and we spent today together and now I don’t suspect, I _know_. And I want to have sex with you so bad, I’m just nervous. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Patrick said softly. “It’s okay. We’ll go as slow as you want.”

“Okay,” Pete whispered, and Patrick grinned again before dropping to his knees. “Holy shit.”

Patrick smirked up at him behind those stupid long eyelashes before taking the waistband of Pete’s boxers _in between his teeth, holy shit _ and dragging them down until Pete’s cock sprung free, tip wet with precome, thick and swollen with blood. Patrick hummed, licking the head clean, making Pete hiss and buck a little, hands tight in fists at his side. 

Patrick reached up and guided Pete’s hands to his hair, winking up at him. 

“I like it,” he reassured Pete as Pete hesitantly curled his fingers through those bleached locks. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” Pete said, voice cracking, and Patrick smirked before lifting his chin and taking Pete’s cock into his mouth. 

Fuck, it was like heaven. Patrick’s mouth was so wet and warm and he was giving Pete the perfect amount of suction. Pete’s hands tightened in Patrick’s hair without meaning to, trying to resist thrusting down Patrick’s throat. Patrick didn’t seem to mind, eyes fluttering shut, swallowing around Pete’s cock. Pete whined at that, unable to help his hips moving a little. Patrick seemed to be encouraging him, taking Pete’s cock in deep, until his nose was pressed to Pete’s pubic bone, buried in Pete’s pubic hair. 

Pete abruptly felt himself at the edge. Fuck. Like an _actual virgin_. He pulled at Patrick’s hair, tried to gather enough air to speak. 

“Stop,” he croaked out, and Patrick immediately pulled off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a move so fucking hot Pete was surprised he didn’t come at the sight of it. “Sorry. I was gonna...fuck, I was gonna come, I don’t want to come yet.”

Patrick grinned. 

“I’ll consider it a complement,” he said, then tugged Pete’s briefs and swim trunks down to his ankles. “Off.”

Pete stepped out of them as Patrick stood, unbuttoning and pulling off his own shirt and pushing his swim trunks down. He wasn’t wearing briefs and his cock was dark and erect, bouncing off his stomach as he guided Pete backwards, towards the bed, urging him onto it. 

“You’re so hot,” Pete blurted out honestly, and Patrick grinned and kissed him. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he teased, gently pushing Pete’s legs apart and settling in between them. “Now. What sort of supplies do you have?”

“Supplies?” Pete said dumbly, before his brain caught up. “Oh! Yeah! Um. I put some behind the clock on the table, um. I hope it’s right.”

Patrick leaned over, affording Pete an excellent view of the line of his back and the curve of his ass, before returning to his knees in between Pete’s legs, bottle of lube and strip of condoms Pete had blushed his way through purchasing in his hands. 

“This is fine,” Patrick reassured him. “I’m going to go slow, okay? You tell me if it hurts or you wanna stop.”

“Okay,” Pete whispered, heart skipping as Patrick uncapped the lube to drizzle it over his fingers. He was breathing funny and he actively tried to stop, to slow down with nice, even breaths. It was only halfway working. 

Patrick gently traced a finger around Pete’s asshole. Pete involuntarily clenched a little, breath catching, and Patrick kissed gently down the inside of Pete’s thigh, making Pete’s toes curl a little. Gradually, Pete relaxed, Patrick waiting patiently right where he was until Pete had calmed down. 

Patrick slowly slid a finger in, leaning down to mouth at the head of Pete’s cock as he did, a clear distraction but also a welcome one. It felt weird, intrusive--Pete tried not to wrinkle his nose. He liked Patrick a lot. It would suck big time if he wasn’t actually into guy on guy sex. 

“It’s gonna feel weird at first,” Patrick said, pulling off, breath ticking Pete’s wet cock. “Bear down, it’s okay.”

Pete took a deep breath, tried to listen. He called up the endless instructional blog posts and videos he’d watched in anticipation of this trip, tried to listen to the advice. 

Evidently, he did something right, because as he tried to relax his tension and grind down a little, Patrick surprised him by pulling out a bit in order to slide a second one in with the first. 

This time, it stung a little, the stretch feeling impossibly tight, knuckles pressing against the inside of Pete’s hole in a mix of amazing and uncomfortable. His tried to keep relaxing, to keep himself open, but it was a whole lot all at once and he’d gone soft a little. 

Patrick kissed Pete’s thigh again before mouthing at the head of Pete’s cock, waiting calmly and patiently until Pete got all the way hard again. Patrick moved his fingers--weird--seemingly searching for something. Pete was pretty sure he was looking for his prostate, that’s what all the websites said, at least, and he tried to lay still and allow it, even though it felt mostly uncomfortable at the moment. 

Abruptly, Patrick’s insistent fingers found something, something bright hot and intense. Pete gasped, back arching, hips grinding down before he’d thought about it. Patrick was grinning but Pete couldn’t focus on it, but insistently pushed back, trying to get that feeling again. 

Patrick gave it to him, slowly stroked his fingers across those nerves, kissing Pete’s bartskull as Pete groaned and tried to get Patrick’s fingers deeper, harder. He had no idea where _this_ reaction had come from, but at least he was reassured that his bisexuality was very much alive and well. 

Patrick pushed a third finger in and this time the stretch was beautiful, intensely perfect, and Pete wanted _more_. He wanted Patrick’s cock, hard and pressed against his thigh currently, as Patrick watched Pete’s face as he thrust his fingers in and out, hitting Pete’s prostate every time. 

Pete felt like he’d lost control of the English language. He thought he probably couldn’t speak if he tried, just gaped like a fish as Patrick brought him back closer to the edge. 

“Ready?” Patrick asked. Pete swallowed. 

“Guh,” he said, and Patrick pulled his fingers out. Pete whined a little without meaning to. Now that was embarrassing. 

He wasn’t given any opportunity to feel the embarrassment, though, because he heard Patrick rip open a condom and watched, with wide eyes, as he rolled it onto himself, lip trapped between his teeth. He spread the lube over his cock, groaning a little, head rolling back, before shuffling on his knees back towards Pete. 

“Okay,” he said. “We can do it like this or sometimes, riding is better for your first time.”

“This is fine,” Pete croaked, amazed he had the brain capacity to string three words together to make a sentence. “Please fuck me.”

“As you wish,” Patrick said, winking, and lined up. Pete took a deep breath as Patrick began to push in. It hurt a bit--Patrick’s cock was bigger than three fingers, that was for sure, but Pete breathed through it, until Patrick was pushed into the hilt. 

They panted together, Patrick adjusting himself so his fingers were threaded with Pete’s, Pete’s legs wrapped around his waist. It hit Pete in that moment--this was really happening. He was really, truly losing his guy virginity with the hottest man Pete had ever seen. This was real. 

Pete was going to have a hard fucking time telling himself this was for one night only, he could already tell that much. 

“Move?” Pete asked uncertainly, and Patrick kissed the tip of his nose, pulling away to look him in the eyes and thrust forward once. Pete gasped, unable to help it, and that seemed to be all the encouragement Patrick needed because he settled into a decent rhythm after that. 

It felt unreal. Pete didn’t fucking realize this could feel so _good_, holy shit, just a wave of sensation hitting him over and over again, until Pete felt like he was drowning in the best possible way. He gasped for breath, feeling sweat roll down his back, and tried to meet Patrick’s thrusts. He twisted his hips a little and his eyes rolled back in his head as it brought Patrick’s insistent cock in direct contact with his prostate. Fuck. Fuck, this was amazing, Pete felt like he was _dreaming_ but dreams never felt this goddamn good. 

Pete groaned and choked on a moan as Patrick seemed to realize he was hitting the exact right spot in Pete and changed his rhythm to something more deliberate and exact, delivering hit after hit of that impossible ecstasy. 

“Please,” Pete moaned, not really aware of what he was saying, mostly mindless babbling. “Please, please, God, please--”

Without warning, Pete felt his orgasm hit. He choked on an honest to god scream of Patrick’s name, legs shaking as he began to come, Patrick still fucking into him, making him feel like he was flying apart and reassembling, only to fly apart again.

Patrick choked on his own gasp, head dropping, hips stilling, and Pete _felt_ Patrick’s cock twitch as he began to come, panting raggedly into Pete’s neck. Pete squeezed Patrick’s hands, kissed Patrick’s temple as best he could, breathing hard as they both came down. 

“Wow,” Pete managed after a long moment. Patrick choked on a laugh and pushed himself back up, pressing a gentle kiss to Pete’s lips before carefully pulling out. It stung a little, but Pete was too busy basking in the afterglow of what he was pretty sure qualified as the best sex he’d ever had to care. 

“You okay?” Patrick asked, dealing with the condom and walking it to the bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth. “Scoot over.”

“You,” Pete said, pointing one finger at Patrick as Patrick gently wiped the come off Pete’s stomach, then handed the washcloth to Pete to clean the excess lube off his ass. 

“Me,” Patrick agreed when Pete trailed off. He kissed Pete’s forehead and worked the sheet out from under him, hopping under it and curling up around Pete. “I’m a cuddler. Sorry.”

“No apology needed,” Pete said, cheeks hot. “Me too.”

“You were saying?” Patrick asked. Pete grinned. 

“You do not look like you could deliver like that,” he said, and Patrick rolled his eyes. “Seriously. You look like the biggest bottom in the world but that...that was fucking incredible.”

“Okay,” Patrick said. “You’re a baby in the bisexual slash gay industry, so I’ll let it pass, but I will tell you that looks indicate nothing about sexual roles.”

“Obviously,” Pete said. Patrick rolled his eyes again, flicking his ear. “I know. I just had a lot of expectations about what would happen on this vacation. And you just smashed them all. In a good way, promise.”

Patrick grinned at him, eyes bright, lip trapped between his teeth. He traced his fingers across Pete’s thorns, from one collarbone to the other before leaning forward and hesitantly pressing his lips to Pete’s. Pete kissed back, scooting closer, tangling their legs together. The sweat was drying on his skin in the cool air conditioning of the hotel room and Pete remembered what this was supposed to be as Patrick pulled back.

“I know--” Patrick began, then sighed and shook himself. “Look, I get what this was supposed to be. Just one night. I know what the beach is for. But, like...I really like you, okay?”

Pete swallowed, throat suddenly bone dry. He reached for Patrick’s hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing gently. 

“Thank God,” he finally managed to whisper, looking at Patrick, memorizing the way his eyelashes settled as he blinked, the messed up hair Pete caused, the bitten red smile as he gazed back at Pete, even, steady. “Because I really like you, too. And I kind of wouldn’t want to not see you again.”

Patrick broke into a dazzling grin, so bright and brilliant it knocked the breath out of Pete for a minute. He grinned helplessly back, kissing Patrick because he couldn’t help himself. Patrick hummed happily, grin still bright as Pete pulled away.

“What would you say if I asked you on a date?” Patrick asked, and Pete winked. 

“I’d say _fuck yes_,” Pete replied. “But maybe after snuggles.”

“Deal,” Patrick said. “Thank you.”

“For?” Pete asked. Patrick shrugged. 

“Everything,” he said, and Pete kissed him again. 

\----

**Author's Note:**

> come shout at me for deviating from my comfort zone at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com


End file.
